Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1 (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

 Screams erupted through the night.
The small town of Eluil had never in its long history endured such chaos and
destruction. Solid wooden doors gave way to the supernatural strength of the
attackers. The demons, although flying around creating chaos and confusion,
worked in tandem to each other. Where one would bash in a door, another would
swoop around to the nearest window and wait for the frightened family to try to
flee. The foul beasts snatched up any fugitives and flew straight up into the air
several hundred feet, loosing their cargo to flail and scream to the ground.
Occasionally if someone's terror truly delighted the host of demons, they would
toy with that one by dropping them and then catching them once more in
mid-flight.

 The flames that had started on the
southern end of town now engulfed the entirety of the town. Special attention
was paid by the attackers to the livestock and stored harvest. The demons made
sure that if they did not kill the farmers outright, then they would die of starvation
over the winter.

 "Hear me!" the great demon
leader announced. "We stop only to feed. Eat what you will and gather
again. We fly as soon as possible."

 "Why do you cringe before this
mortal? Surely, you are more powerful," Pactor, a small, jittery orange
demon with a frog face, asked, creeping annoyingly under Gredgeshnosch's feet.

 "This mortal, as you call him,
is no mortal at all. I have seen into his soul. I know the truth of his magics.
He is no more mortal than you or I."

 "Not a mortal? Then why does he
smell like a mortal? Why does he summon us to do his work for him?"
Pactor's long slimy tongue shot out and wrapped around an unsuspecting
runaway's throat. The sickening crunch that followed brought a broad smile to
Gredgeshnosch's vile face. The smile widened exposing rows upon rows of razor
sharp teeth as Pactor sucked the man whole into his elongated mouth. The man
was driven down the smallish demon's throat, slowly forming an obvious bulge in
Pactor's stomach.

 "He is different. And you would
do well not to invoke the wrath of one so learned and practiced in the art of
stripping you from that which makes you who you are. Follow me, and you will
live. Disobey, and I will see to it personally that you make it into our
summoner's hands. Finish your meal, we fly now!" With that last threat, 
Gredgeshnosch flew off into the night howling back for his horde to follow him.

 "What in all the universe could
shake the ferocity from  Gredgeshnosch?" Pactor asked himself, truly
hoping to never learn what could do that. He lifted up from the ground to take
his place in the procession, pausing to spit out the bones of his most recent
meal.

Chapter
Twenty-six

 Morning came too much soon for
Jaxius. The bright rays of the sun intensified by the sheet of white spread out
on the Nordrasian plain bored into the half-elf. Jaxius squinted as he stared
across that plain wondering how far the snow stretched forth.

 "What burdens yer mind,
Returned One?" Grundar asked, staring out to the brilliant morning beside
Jaxius.

 "Returned One? The old mystic
called me that. What does it mean?"

 "I don' rightly know. I'd like
t' be knowin' how an' why 'e shoved off las' night. An' I take it, he won't be
comin' back."

 "No. I don't believe he
will," Jaxius replied understanding the questions that might be aroused in
the clansmen this morning. "It seems death follows me wherever I go."

 "Don' let yer head be troubled
o'er this. Old Kaird knowed when 'is time would be comin'. I be thinkin' he
waited fer ye t' come t' 'im. He fought 'long side me grandpappy. He jes'
refused t' give 'imself up till 'e was done wit' whate'er needed doin'."

 This thought both relaxed and
worried Jaxius. The thought that Kaird – so that was the old mystic's name –
had lived so long and likely had some power over when he would go was
comforting. But the fact that Jaxius still did not truly know what was going
on, that was so catastrophically important that a mystic had to extend his life
by an extra fifty years, was a bit more than troubling to Jaxius. The idea that
he was somehow at the center of a world-changing event made the thought sting a
little more.

 "I suppose you are right."

 "S'pose? I know I'm bein'
right." Grundar grumbled. "Wha' I be needin' t' know from ye is where
ye be goin' now?"

 Jaxius looked up, still not knowing
the answer to that question, himself. He thumbed the rolled parchment in his
hand and wondered what its writing might indicate. He had been too lost in
thought about the old man and the mysteries presented to him in the past days
to worry overmuch about the mysterious missive.

 Grundar continued, thinking that he
had offended Jaxius, "Know tha' ye may come and go as ye see fit. I just
be wonderin' if ye know 'ow t' fix me son or know where t' be lookin' fer
answers."

 Jaxius' heart sank at the thought of
the predicament that Tolian and Bergar were in. He berated himself for worrying
about his own problems and not considering those of his friends.

 "I will find an answer for you,
even if I have to travel the world to find it. This might be the first
step." Jaxius held up the parchment. "Kaird gave me this right before
he left."

 "Well, read it, boy."
Grundar urged.

 At the irresistible command of the leader
of Clan Dernegart, Jaxius unrolled the scroll and scanned the page. He did not
know many of the words as they had been penned in a language completely unknown
to him, but the old mystic had penned an explanation at the top.

 "It is a spell scroll. Reading
the magical incantation will enact a spell that gives the reader knowledge of
that which he seeks."

 "Can ye read it?"

 Jaxius frowned. "No. Most of it
is in a language that I cannot understand."

 Secretly, Jaxius was glad for that
fact. Not fully understanding how the spell worked, he wondered if it should be
used for himself or for his friends' sake. The warrior decided that it would be
better, for everyone, to use the magic of the scroll to help Bergar leave
Tolian's body. But he was not so sure that he could fully resist the temptation
to delve into his own missing life, if he could, indeed, read the spell.

 "We should take it to Tolian,
he knows the language of most every nation in the world, and some from
beyond."

 "Well, where's me boy this mornin'
anyway?"

 Grundar set off toward Tolian's
tent, grumbling the whole way about lazy-headed boys who thought nothing about
spending a day in bed while the men do all the work.

 Jaxius looked down at the parchment
and let his mind wander to the possibilities that the spell might hold for him.
He quickly shook away the selfish thoughts and shoved the paper into the pouch
at his belt.

 A few minutes later, Jaxius gathered
with Tolian and Grundar in Grundar's personal tent. The sat covered in furs and
blankets as the temperature had steadily plummeted through the morning. The
cold had followed the blizzard, a sure indication that it was midwinter in the
north, according to the grizzled clan leader.

 "So, what are ye thinkin' o'
it?"

 "Well," Bergar started.
"I am not sure. But Tolian says he recognizes the words, but it is a
di-a-lect that he has never heard spoken."

 "Hmm. Do you think it could be
that the spell is written in an ancient tongue? One that might have been tied
to the mysticism that Kaird practiced?" Jaxius said.

 Almost certainly,
Tolian said to his body companion.

 "Tolian says, 'Almost
certainly.'" Bergar repeated.

 "Can ye be figurin' it out if
ye have time?" Grundar asked.

 
Yes, but I don't think that we
really have to know what it means. Just what it says.

 "He says yes, but he doesn't
think that we have to know what it means. We just have to know what it
says."

 "Wha'? Speak straight t' me
boy. None o' tha' mumbo-jumbo double talk yer always tryin' t' get' away
wit'."

 
Yeah, what?! I don't know what
you mean by that, either,
Bergar thought.

 Tolian mentally sighed.
Most
spell scrolls don't need to be translated. You simply need to repeat the words
precisely as they are written. If you fail to pronounce the words, as written,
the spell will not work. It is also possible to completely distort the intent
the spell. Or worst of the worst, it could quite literally blow up in your
face.

 Bergar swallowed hard. "What he
means is that we only need to know how to say the words, not what they mean to
make the spell work."

 "Well, why didn't ye say tha'
t' begin wit'?" Grundar grumbled.

 Jaxius finally cut in, "I think
we should use the spell to find out what we can about how to separate the two
of you."

 The scroll may only work for Jaxius.
After all, the mystic gave it to him and not us,
noted Tolian.

 "The bard says the spell may
only work for you, Jaxius, not us. Kaird did leave it with you, after
all," Bergar told his friend.

 "If there is a way to use this
for you two, then we should," Jaxius argued. "My fate will lead me to
my answers in time."

 "I be agreein' with th'
half-elf."

 Jaxius couldn't help but to note the
rarely used term for his half heritage. Was it jealousy that he felt, that he
was so easily labeled? Or was he just frustrated from the changes that had
undertaken him?

 He has a point. This may be our only
chance to find out how to reverse this.
Tolian thought, doubt creeping up in his mind.

 Yes, but what about what Kaird
intended?
Bergar
asked. He was anxious to leave Tolian's body, but shuddered at the idea that
they'd need to use more magic.

 We cannot know what the old man
intended.

 I know, I just feel weird using what
was given to another to help me out,
Bergar admitted.

 
I don't think we have much
choice. When Jaxius has his mind set to something, he is rather difficult to
persuade.

 "Tolian says we go with using
the scroll for us. He says it's hard to argue with this one." Bergar said
thumbing toward Jaxius.

 "Then, it's settled. Ye and the
bard'll work t' sound out th' words and cast th' spell." Grundar was quick
to step in with guidance, once a reasonable plan had been put forth.

 The next several hours were spent
with Tolian sounding words out to Bergar, who, if the complaints of Tolian were
to be believed, followed directions like a four-year-old child. Finally, after
much shouting at himself and ridiculous half conversations, Bergar announced
that he could do it.

 The sun was already setting when the
three men gathered again, poised to have the spell cast. Bergar slowly but
confidently repeated the spell while holding the scroll just as he had
practiced. When he finished, they all sat silently waiting for some monumental
explosion or sign from the gods that the spell had worked.

 "Well," Grundar said to
Bergar. "Do ye know anythin'?"

 "No, nothing yet," Bergar
answered. "Wait, I think something is ... yes ... something's coming to
me. Give me just a...." At that, Bergar stiffened. Every muscle of
Tolian's body tightened reflexively. Arms straightened, knees locked, eyes
rolled sightlessly, Tolian's body jerked and quivered with the powerful
seizure. Not even slamming into the freeze-hardened ground was enough to shake
him from the fit.

 The others dashed over and scooped
him up, making sure that he was comfortable and unhurt.

 Bergar relaxed nearly as quickly as
he'd tensed. His blue eyes blinked several times, and he shook his face side to
side as if awakening suddenly from a monstrous nightmare.

 "Wow, now that was some
spell," he exclaimed.

 "Me boy! Are ye hurt?"
Grundar gruffly asked.

 "Umm, no, I believe I am
perfectly fine, now. And I, sorry to say, am not your boy. I am Tolian, the
bard and … the sole and rightful owner of this beautiful body by the way,"
Tolian said, somewhat indignantly.

 "Oh. Well, where's me durned
boy? Is 'e in there?" Grundar moved closer, peering into Tolian's eye as
if he could find his beloved son behind Tolian's blues.

 Tolian jerked his head away from the
ignorant probing of the barbarian. "He truly isn't in here, Grundar. As
far as I can tell, anyway. I mean, when he's here, he does tend to whine and
mope when he isn't in charge of my everything."

 "Watch yer lip, boy, or ye'll
be learnin' a new job," Grundar growled. "Now, wha' d' we do? Th'
spell didn't work, and we be missin' me boy again."

 "We find someone who can read
the spell and knows exactly what it does," Jaxius broke his contemplative
silence. "We just won't be able to find them here on the frontier."

 Grundar agreed. "I be knowin'
no one what can speak any ancient tongues. Kaird was th' last o' th' old
ways."

 Jaxius looked around the room and at
Tolian in particular and pursed his lips, not wanting to accept the inevitable
conclusion. "We head south, keep to the border of Hawklos and Feldrovia,
and then into Paradisia."

 "Paradisia? Have you gone
completely raving mad? You remember getting out of Paradisia last time? There
will be guards at every road looking for you. And me, by mere
association."

 "Surely, the arena master will
have forgotten by now," Jaxius said.

 "Whoa, I though' ye told tha'
little fae girl tha' the arena master got eat by some such toad dragon,"
Grundar said, looking incredulously from Tolian to Jaxius.

 "Oh, right. That I did. I
regaled her with a story of a froggy-faced dragon." Tolian said shaking
his head and his hands, rising to pace as he spoke. "You remember, Jaxius,
the scary little faerie girl who would have torn my face from my head, if I
didn't do exactly as she said? I remember her. Although, I had almost
forgotten. The thought was right there, leaving on its merry way. And now, you,
YOU brought it back. Thank you." By the time he finished this tirade, his
hands were a blur of frantic gestures, none of which made any sense to the
barbarian.

 "It's settled," Jaxius
interrupted. "We go to Paradisia. There we can find someone who will have
a better idea about this scroll."